


I See You

by Luna_Page



Category: Taboo (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, James Delaney - Freeform, Not Beta Read, TV shows - Freeform, Taboo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Page/pseuds/Luna_Page
Summary: James saw himself surround by strong women. His sister, his step mother and the woman from his dreams.Follows season one with an OC insert. James/OC.It's un-beta'ed so if anyone out there wants to beta this weirdness. Also, I'm writing this as I watch the episodes, so first chapter is episode 1, chapter 2 is episode 2, etc.





	I See You

Her friend Zilpha had asked this of her and as much as she hated funerals, it wouldn’t look good if she said no. She had been to various funerals, but always managed to escape every single one of them as soon as the church doors closed. And she was getting better and better at it. Maybe she would do the same this time. She loved Zilpha dearly, but not enough to stand in the rain for a depisteful man such as her father.

Alma gave a last touch to her top hat and waited for the carriage to open. As soon as it did, she saw her dear friend already waiting for her at the door. Next to the orphan girl stood her husband.

“Oh my dear friend! Thank you for coming.” Zilpha said into Alma’s neck as they embraced. They both heard Thorne scoff. It was well known that he couldn’t stand Alma. The spinster as he called her. 

The black hair woman stood tall and looked him in the eye and patted herself on the back when he teared his eyes from her. 

If all of them were being honest, Zilpha wasn’t all that sad about Horace’s death, but there were parts to play and this was hers. So while Alma took her right arm, and Thorne her left, the heiress had to make a conscious effort to look slightly dismayed as they marched down the muddy street.

The threesome sat on the front pew. Silent, mourning Zilpha, holding to Alma’s hand and both girls knew it wasn’t from sadness but to draw strength to get through this charade. 

“Mrs. Geary, I don't wish to be indelicate but did you pay the grave diggers the extra shilling?” said a voice from behind them. Thoyt, Delaney’s solicitor. Both Alma a Zilpha looked back but as Zilpha was about to reply Thorne quipped.

“What extra shilling?”

“To bury your father deeper in the ground. Resurrectionists pay extra to be buried two feet deeper than the rest. That way the grave robbers can't dig down to their meat before the sun comes up.” He looked directly and the mourning woman and paid no attention to Thorne. Alma bit her lip to stop it from moving into a grin.

“My wife has no business with the gravediggers. Her father will rest at the regular depth.” Thorne barked, ending the discussion right there.

For a while the church was quietly, only the high voices of the choir were heard and then the church doors creaked and opened. 

“Dear God. There walks a dead man.” Thoyt whispered in shock.

 

Both girls looked at the figure and Zilpha took a deep and sharp intake of air, while Alma just looked at the man. Nothing of importance could be seen. His clothes were dark and he was wearing a black top hat that hid must of his features. As quickly as Zilpha had turned to look at the man, she had turned around and stared at the wall in front of her, as stiff as the dead body on the coffin.

“Zilpha, how you alright? Who is that?” Alma asked touching her friends hand.

“A ghost…” She mumbled. “A demon. Hell has open up…” She looked scared and Alma looked up to the stranger.

“Dear Lord almighty. Is that your brother?” Thoyt said to deaf ears.

The stranger walked to the pew opposite of them and Alma kept looking at him while Zilpha squeezed her hand so tight she was sure it would bruise.

After he sat down he looked straight at the alter and Alma furrows her brow at him, urging him to look at her. He doesn’t.

The priest started the sermon and Alma turned her eyes away from him and back to the bible.

\---

She told herself she was standing in this graveyard for Zilpha, but she knew it was because of the stranger. Her friends brother. A ghost she had called him. Alma was curious, something about him made her extremely curious.

As the coffin is lowered to the ground, the brother takes out a metal box and proceeds to chant something while throwing something into the grave. His mouth move but Alma can’t understand what he’s saying. He paints a red streak over his eye and then turned his head to look straight at her.

Alma takes a deep breath and holds it, while holding his gaze. He has no expression, not mourning, not anger, not joy. And she is hypnotized by his gaze. Her jaw clenches and she turned her eyes to the ground, finally letting go of the air stuck in her lungs.

\---  
Thorne let go of Zilpha’s hand and ran after the man as he walked away. 

“Sir? Mr. Delaney is it, Sir?” James slows down and turned around. “James Delaney is it?”

Zilpha tensed as we approached, grabbing Alma’s hand, once more. The heiress companion was doing a far better job at hiding her tense state, but then again he wasn’t her long lost brother. Just a stranger, who looked strangely familiar. 

“Who are you?” James asked looking Thorne up and down.

Zilpha let go of Alma’s hand and grabbed her husband’s arm, silently telling her brother of exactly Thorne is. James looks at his sister and they exchange a cryptic look. A blink, that lasted a second and then it as gone, but in that second the siblings spoke a thousand words.

“They said you were dead.” Zilpha asked her voice shaking oh so slightly.  
“I am.” He stared at Thorne and then looked over the husband’s shoulder towards Alma. This time she was ready and pushed her chin up, staring him down. He squinted a bit and then looked at Zilpha. “Such a shallow grave they dug for my father. Are you short of a couple shillings?”

“He was buried to the depth of my love. These last years he disgraced me…” He tilts his head as Zilpha said this.

“Disgraced?” 

All was quiet for a while, even when he turned and left, leaving the tree of them looking at his retreating back. 

\---  
The ride to the Rose Inn was tense, to say the least. Both women were silent, with Zilpha still holding Alma’s arm while Thorne complained all the way. At some point during the voyage, the girls had just shut him out, his voice becoming another background noise like the horse’s hooves on the ground or the newspaper boy shouting.

Once inside the Inn, food was served and drink was had. The arrival of James beign the main focus of everyone’s gossip. 

“So, you thought him dead?” Alma asked in a low tone. Zilpha nodded slowly, looking at Thorne while he wandered around the inn talking to various people.

“He disappeared. Got on a boat to Africa.” Zilpha sighed. Hard to read, Alma thought, must be a family trait. One she didn’t know yet.

She had known Zilpha for 3 years now. Alma had inherited quite a fortune from her parents death. They owned one of the biggest newspapers in the London, and when they died, they left her with everything. So she had packed her things from their country house and settled herself here, where the main office was.   
Society in the big city was something she had not encounter in the countryside. True she wasn’t a farm-maid. She was well read and well spoken, and she was far from naive but she was a single woman in her late twenties, who didn’t seem to care about any homely task, but runs the printers with a iron hand. 

Both men and women disliked her for one reason or the other. Only a handful of people talked to her and even less of those she considered a friend. Zilpha had been one of those people, who talked to her and respected her choices, the exact same way Alma respected hers. They were honest with each and somewhat of a safe-haven to when life was too much to handle.

“The boat sunk and…” Zilpha stopped, looking at her gloved hand. 

Alma looked around the room, checking to see if Thorne wasn’t coming back to the table anytime soon. 

“If I may be honest…” Alma said and received a sharp look from Zilpha. “You don’t seem very happy about his resurrection.” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“The inheritance?” Alma questioned, money being the only reason in her mind to see her friend so distraught. “The propriety?” 

“That too, but not just.” The heiress sighed and placed a hand on her forehead leaning into the table subtly. “He was better off dead.”

Alma frowned, but placed a hand on her friends back, rubbing circle on her shoulder blades, consoling her. Thorne casually walked towards them with Thoyt and Alma cleared her throat. Zilpha straightened and wiped some tears of her face.

“Have you seen him?” He asked as soon as he reach them.

“No.” Alma answered much to his disdain.

“He went to piss.” One of the man in the bar pointed, overhearing the question.

“Any business with him will be conducted in my presence.” Thorne hissed and Thoyt rolled his eyes while looking at Zilpha.

“I have the advantage. I have read the will.” The older man explains.  
“Meaning what?”  
“Meaning, I need to piss. And need no one to hold my cock.” Both mine and Zilpha’s eyes widened, not at his words, but at his tone, completely shutting down Thorne’s orders. “Begging the ladies’ pardon.”

\---

A few more minutes ticked by and the Inn was now filled with drunk people, women selling their bodies and a very bored Alma. Was she not curious about seeing the stranger again, she would have walked out of this hell hole a long time ago. She closes her eyes and groans as silently as she can, ready to give up her hunt for the new Delaney.

“These girls arriving are all whores.” Thorne slurs, the wine hitting hm fast.

“You don’t say…” Alma mumbled loud enough for him to hear. Her boredom was making her reckless. She sighed and placed her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the table.

“They attend the funeral of the widower's because they know there will be a lot of old men.” He continued, dismissing Alma’s quip. “And that animal from Africa is here to pick an old man's bones too.”

And that was enough to wake Alma from her stupor. She slowly craned her neck and found him easily, talking to one of the whores. She studied him. His mannerisms were cold, calculated, stoic but his presence was the exact opposite, imposing, angry, firey. 

“Perhaps, we should let Thoyt deal with the matter.” The sister muttured and Alma noticed Zilpha was watching James just like she was. Thorne dismissed her and was about to walk towards him, when his wife stood up and gently grabbed his elbow “ It’s getting late. Let's call our carriage…”

With a groan Thorne assented and grabbed his hat. Zilpha looked at Alma and both nodded quietly to each other. Alma got up from her place on the table and put her own hat on. 

The three of them started to push the crowd away from them to get to the door. The noise was too loud and the smell was too much. The sharp stench of alcohol, the drunken shouts and the way her corset was now digging into her ribs made her very focused to get to that door. The focus was completely broken when someone grabbed her elbow and pulled.

Alma couldn’t help herself from letting out a small yelp when she felt her balance shift and whipped around. The yelp was cut mid note when she came face to face with James Delaney. No, not face to face… Nose to nose. He was so close she could smell his sweat. She swallowed and looked at his eye. Grey, cold, un-moving, looking right to her. Right through her.

“I see you in my dreams...” He firmly stated. No threat or menace. Just a simple statement.

It would be simple, if this wasn’t the first time the ever saw each other. Alma dry-swallowed again and could see her chest rising from her hard breathing. Their gaze never left the other. 

She felt like a prey that was caught the in line of a hungry lion’s sight. Un-moving, scared, eyes wide. But aside from his tall presence and closeness, there was no threat coming from him.

His gaze shifts behind Alma and he straightened and she did as well. 

“And please tell Zilpha, if she is ever short of two shillings, please do not hesitate to ask. As Africa also served me incredibly well.” He adds as if to make this look more innocent than it was.

“Well then you will have no need of legacies now will you.” Thorne said, breaking the spell the stranger had on her. 

“We were just leaving…” Zilpha said, grabbing Alma’s other elbow and gently pulling her towards the door.

As she’s lead to the door, Alma looks over her shoulder to see James broad shoulders walking the other direction.

\---

He entered the office of his father’s house and looked around. Papers scattered, rolls and rolls of paper. Documents, knick knacks, stationery. He groaned and walked towards the circular window. On the way there he grabbed a a quill that his father had disregarded on the table. He saw the fog and took a deep breath. With a swift movement the quill was thrown, point first towards the shadows behind him. IT travelled with such force, it ended stuck on the wooden column in the middle of the room.

“Next one goes straight between your eyes.” He growled, keeping in tone low.

A lone, hooded figure came out of the shadows slowly, gloved hands first. He looked at it up and down.

“Come into the light.” He ordered slowly and the figure walked towards the light near the closed door. “Show yourself.”

The hands of the blackened figure touched the edges of the hood and pulled it down. James’ eyes widened for a second. There she was again and once again this was no dream.

Alma stood tall in front of the man. Chin up, eyes forward. She was looking braver than she felt. Her hands dropped to her side and her shoulders stiffened as he turned fully to her.

“How did you get in?” He asked leaning into the window sill, crossing his arms.

“Random window.” She shrugged.

“I have to remind Brace to nail all the windows shut.” 

“Don’t forget the front door, back door, river door and…” she pointed up and James looked up to see a small trap door. “Roof door.”

James made a sound and nodded. He took off his tall hat and scratched his head vigorously. He looked at her once again. Her upper body was stiff, feigning confidence, but her hands gave her away. She kept opening and closing her hand, cracking her fingers with her thumb one by one over and over again. Her face was, as it has always been innocent, but her eyes. These were not her dream-eyes. In his dreams her eyes were calm, innocent, caring. Her real green eyes were jaded, knowledgeable, experienced and right now scared. Something in his cold, dead heart twisted. 

“You’re scared.” He stated, unbuttoning his coat. 

“Terrified but I can deal with it.” She countered honestly, he raised an eyebrow at her. She pointed to the quill. “I’m not used to getting caught and you almost killed me with a quill. Which, believe me, is highly ironic.”

“Caught?” He dropped his coat on the back to the chair, her eyes following him as her head bobbed up and down. “So you’re just a common thief, here to steal the silverware perhaps? Or maybe the paintings? Or the crystal from the chandeliers…” 

Alma couldn’t help but snort and grin at him, which in turn made him once again raise an eyebrow.

“You’re chandeliers are nothing but glass. Your paintings are made of cheap oils, I give them another year before they fade. And you’re silverware, well I’m sorry to tell you, it’s just iron. Do you know how I know this Mr. Delaney?”

“James…” He said closing his hands over his stomach as he reclined in the chair.

“I know this because I dine with silverware made of actual silver, surrounded by paintings that cost more than this house and lit by a very expensive chandelier.” She took a tentative step towards him. “I don’t want things, Mr. Delaney...I have things. I have so many things. Pretty things, expensive things. Sometimes I feel like I have too many things. So no, I don’t steal silverware. I steal something far more important. Information Mr. Delaney.”

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”

“Because I sell that information.” Another tentative step. “I own the newspaper in town.”

“You own?” He asked incredulously. 

“Well my father did and since he’s dead, I do now.” He nodded looking impressed. Alma noted he seemed to emote more now that they were alone, but then again she kept up appearances too.

“You are very honest Miss…” James trailed off waiting for her to give out her last name.

“I have nothing to gain by lying to you.” Alma admitted, omitting her last name.

He took a good look at her. She was wearing a very thick knee length coat, too big for her and a plain black shirt tucked in a pair of black trousers. All of it, too big for her. She looked completely different then he was used to seeing her. Her long hair was pushed out of her face into what look like a knot in the base of her skull and she had dirt on her face. She looked nothing like she had looked in the day. 

“Do you want an interview then?” He mocked mentioning her to another chair next to him.

“God, no!” She puffed and sat down on the chair, hands in her lap eyes still looking at him. “Why would I want to end the mystery, that makes the gossip that sells my paper? Believe me I’ll make much more if you keep your dark ensemble,well, in the dark.”

“Then what are you doing here?” He leaning forward, slowly, menacingly. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed down her fear.

“Secrets. Letters. Documents that might be of importance….”

“Blackmail material?” He concluded and Alma tilted her head in a affirmative manner.

“Not just for that...I like to know people Mr. Delaney…”

“James…” He interrupted her once more.

“And I like to know what they do behind everyone’s back. I like to keep my doors ajar, for whenever I need to go through them.” 

He did this eye squint again and Alma mimicked it. She felt...strangely comfortable being alone with this menacingly figure. She looked him straight in the eye and she knew he had seen things and done things. And yet, she felt more comfortable here with him, than in a room full of lawyers. 

“Are you still scared?” He asked dismissing her previous discourse.

“Yes.” She grinned.

“I thought you had nothing to gain by lying to me.” He kept his body relaxed but leaning towards her still.

“You’re a scary figure.” 

They heard footsteps near the door and both got to their feet. James put his hand down in front of her, as if keeping her behind him. For a moment it looked like he was protecting her.

The door to the attic opened and an old man walked in, holding a bottle of brandy. He jumped back when he saw two figures in the attic instead of one.

“Bracer, this is Miss…” James looked at the woman behind him and she stepped forward.

“Alma. Alma is enough.” 

“Oh?” Bracer looked between both of them and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know ye were accompanied, I’ll come back later.”

“No need Mr. Bracer.” Alma walked towards the old man. “I’m leaving. It was nice knowing you better, Mr Delaney.”

“Mr. Bracer, please accompany Miss Alma and make sure she leaves through the front door.” He raised both his eyebrows at her, while Alma tried not to smile at his joke.

“Yes sir…”

Alma tilted her head in a salute manner and James did the same.

He would dream about her that night. And for the first time since it all started, he could hear her voice, clear as day. In her white dress, her soft fingertips touching his forehead.

\---

Alma looked at the small piece of iron from every angles. The letter embossed on it was elegant, cursive, fragile. She frowned and inspected it closely. 

“I’ll take a sample and started printing with it.” The journalist looked at the elderly man in front of her. “It looks beautiful Mr. Winston, but I’m afraid it may be to fragile. I hope it works thought, it is exquisite.”

Mr. Winston smiled, he was the newspaper oldest supplier, and to be honest, the most trusted. He was a nice and gentle man, who had saw her grow up. A good friend of her parents, he had helped her gain the trust of the other suppliers and business men. Not that they would ever treat her with the same respect as they treat each other, but the simple fact they still made business with the newspaper and print house was enough.

“I’ve been trying some new things.” He announced, closing a small wooden box that had some lower lettercases stored in it.

“I’m happy to test them, you know that.” Alma smiled honestly. She liked him. Phillip was family. 

The sound of the printing presses was deafening, but it was music to Alma’s ears. The more those cranks cranked, the more newspapers got out. One of the workers came up to her and gave her a sample of the newspaper. She nodded to the man and mentioned for her supplier to follow her.

They walked outside and stopped near the wooden door as it closed, muffling the repetitive sounds of the presses.

“I’ve heard you have some new advertisement deals coming your way.” Phillip grinned as they walked from the workfloor. He knew that, because he had put some good graces in her name to some influential people. 

“It was never bad.” Alma reassured, knowing what he was implying. “We had a little trouble when father died but nothing we couldn’t pull through.”

“It’s a big business for one person alone.” Wilson started and Alma rolled her eyes, knowing full well where this conversation was leading.

“I’m not alone Phillip.” She scoffed and pointed behind her. The two story building was filled with people coming in and out, journalist, couriers, press workers. “See this? This is enough. I don’t need a husband controlling my business or finances, nor do I need small children running around my feet. Maybe someday, maybe in some other life. Right now this is enough.”

Phillip smiled once again and touched Alma’s cheek lovingly. 

“One day m’dear. One day you’ll want it all.” 

“Maybe. But right now what I really want is your new type letters” 

One of the Phillips’ servants opened his carriage and he stepped in.

“I’ll send some over. Good day m’dear.”

“Good day.” She closed the door, waited for the carriage to leave and turned back.

She entered the ground floor of the building, leaving the workers on the basement to their work.

The young girls at the front desk smiled at her and bid her a good day, she waved at them. Alma was never rude to her workers. These people made this newspaper what it was. From the top journalists, to the janitors, even the paper boys. She needed them to work full steam as much as they needed her to pay them their wages.

Alma walked up the stairs to the last floor, passing through the journalists room. She peeked inside and nodded at the journalists working, the sound of the typewriters much softer than the presses.

She was reading the newspaper page as she unlocked the door to her office. Alma reminded herself she needed to hire a cartoonist and soon. A creak on the wooden floor behind her, made her whip her head around and jump back.

“We need to stop meeting like this.” She shrieked grabbing the front of her shirt.

The office was spacious, walls lined with bookcases, bookcases filled with books. The two big windows on the back of the room filled the office with light as well as the wooden desk before them. The very well organized wooden table had a cushy chair on one side and two less fancy chairs on the other. The wall where the door was had a small leather couch standing against it with a small coffee table in front of it. 

James was standing behind the hancy chair and in front of one of the windows, his figure a mere shadow. Alma admitted he had a supernatural aura around him as if all the light that touched him, got swallowed by his soul.

He let out a small throat-y sound and Alma walked up to the desk. He mirrored her movements and as she stood behind the desk, he was standing in front of it. She dropped the paper, with force, on the desk but stood, her hands on the chair, her body leaning into it.

“What do you need, Mr Delaney?”

“James…” He offered once again, she raised her eyebrows and tapped her fingers on the chair. 

“What do you need?.” She repeated, slower this time, emphasizing every word.

“I need a door opened.” He declared slowly, her eyes squinted.

“That’s the locksmith’s problem.” She jested, knowing full well what he meant. He tilted his head.

“I need a grave dug up.” Her eyes widened. It didn’t take much for her to guess who he wanted dug up.

“Oh? And what makes you think I can help you with that?” She sat down on the chair and crossed her arms on the desk, leaning into it.

James leaned down, hands on deck and once again they were face to face, almost nose to nose. He smelled of cheap brandy and smoke. She kept her eyes locked on his.

“Grave digging is illegal, Mr Delaney.” Alma noted his eyes shifting to her lips for a second and come back to her eyes.

“Corpses tell many stories.” Alma mimicked his action and looked at his lips as he talked. He noted and lick them. “They hold information. I need information on a body. Information I’m willing to share with you.” His voice took a sing-song tone.

She smiled mischievously and stepped back. She grabbed a ink pen and wrote an address down, handing it to him after.

“Meet me here one hour after dark.”

He turned and left, she shook her head and grinned. 

\---

They waited in the shadows inside the St. Bart’s mortuary. His companion had her back to his and his gaze shifted between her and the happenings on the room.

Alma had waited as she said outside of the hospital, dressed as she had the other night. Oversized shirt and pants, hood up, hair on a loose long braid and her face dirty with soot. 

James didn’t really think it was soot as much as some expensive powder. So, knowing nothing about self control and the fact that, somewhere in his damaged mind, this woman was a long lost friend, he touched a finger on her cheek and then smelled it. He knew he was right when the faint smell of roses hit his nostrils.

The girl was looking at him one eyebrow raised, her neck stiff as his finger got closed to her face and then shook her head and rolled her eyes at his strange behaviour.

They both watched to two grave diggers come and delivered the stolen corpse. 

He had insisted to be in the room when they brought it inside, which had made Alma groan.

“If they see someone in the room besides the doctor, they’ll know it’s a particular job and not just a medical use of the body.” She had repeated for the fifth time as the doctor had started arranging the tools he needed for the job.

“I don’t care.” James had groaned, his face stoic.

“Fine, when the police comes to your door because a grave digger made some gold tattling you to them, I’ll have a great story.” Alma had shrugged walking towards the shadows.

She grinned as she felt his footsteps behind her.

“Good boy.” She had teased when they got to the shadows but straightened up when she felt his hand on the back her neck. Not squeezing nor doing anything remotely threatening. It was just there.

After a few minutes, Alma heard James growll as he saw the doctor empty a small glass of wine.

“If you don't approve of me steadying my nerves with Madeira, then perhaps you should consult the directory of the Royal College of Physicians and see how many others of them will agree to carry out this kind of work.” Dr. Powells declared as James walked out of the shadows.

“Forgive me Doctor. My friend is abit unfiltered.” Alma apologized walking behind him.

The doctor nodded and started to prepare the body for opening as both guest walked forward at the same time.

“I intend to mix the contents of his stomach with potassium oxide, calcium oxide and nitric acid.” 

The doctor looked directly at James and Alma did the same. He was expressionless and made no move.

“It’s going to take a while.” Alma pushed. Nothing.

“I will know in twenty minutes. Come back when the church bell chimes.” Doctor explained and tilted his head towards the door.

James groaned once more and started to walked towards the door as Alma took her usual seat on the table and prepared her writing instruments: a stitched notebook, a small ink bottle and a nib pen. The stranger looked behind, waiting for her to follow. When she didn’t he slammed the door.

Doctor Powell looked at her with an eyebrow raised. 

“Is he going to be a normal occurrence in our deals?” He asked.

“If he is, is it going to be a problem?” 

“Do you trust him?”

“Dr. Powel, I don’t trust people. I trust money, and intentions.” Alma crossed her legs and looked intently at the medicine man. “I trust that you like the coin I am putting in your hand. And I also trust the guards intention to erase every illegal grave dealer. So, do I trust him? No. Will he tell anyone of the goings on inside this mortuary? Absolutely not.”  
Dr. Powell nodded and her explanation seemed enough for him. And so their danse macabre commence. Him doing his experiment, her writing his dictation about his work. She didn’t mind looking at the body, but in all honesty she rarely took a look at what was happening on the slab. The sound was enough for her to imagine. The fact that he was fast at what he did gave her an excuse to be occupied when the gruesome business was taking place.

It was over a little before the bell rang and they waited for the other man. The door slam as the last bell stroke sounded. Alma noted he was sweating and breathing heavy. As he walked towards them Alma furrowed her eyebrows, silently asking if he was alright. He shook his head, whether it was to tell her that he wasn’t or not now, she couldn’t decipher.

Powell had set up several tubes and bell jars that bubbled up. James stood behind her, hovering silent, menacing.

“The horizontal chamber contains the gas from the stomach contents.” Powel explained, lighting a candle to a brass tube. A blue flame began burning and the doctor takes off his glass and placed them on top of the flame. “Now, the moment of truth.” 

Unconsciously both guests took a step forward and looked over the shoulder of the doctor as he waited for his glasses to answer all the questions. They watched as the spectacles turn blacker and blacker with each passing second.

Powell mumbled something under his breath and they both got closer. If there wasn’t a dead body, all opened up on the slab, Alma would have found this comic. The doctor turned to the couple and showed them his glasses.

“As you see, the flame has formed a reflective surface on the glass.“ There was a two distorted faces on the dark surface. ”It's what is known as an 'arsenic mirror'.”

Alma frowned and turned her neck to look at James. His stoic expression had changed slightly to a darker expression but not surprised. Alma noted down something down on her small notebook.

“Your father was poisoned. From the density of the mirror, I would say heavy doses over a short period. And, yes, it would have affected his mind in the later stages.”

Powell looked again at both people in the chamber. Alma he had known for a while and she was very good at hiding her disgust and horror at the gore practiced in this chamber, so he wasn’t expecting much from there. But the cold and expressionless face of the other guest surprised him a little. As someone knowing that a close relative had been most likely murderer, he was taking it rather well.

James walked from his perch behind Alma and gave the man some coins, while the woman grabbed her instruments and stored them in their small wooden case.

“You want him re-buried.” Powell asked.

“Yes and sewn back up into one piece.” James said, turning his back and started walking towards the door. His step was slow waiting for Alma to catch up.

“I would recommend they dig a bit deeper this time.” Powell suggested nonchalantly.

The rest was happened too quickly. James frowned and turned around, hand ready to crush someone's throat. Alma only had time to grab James’ opposite elbow and pull him slightly from the man.

“James!”

“If this body is used for any other purpose…” James threatened his voice low and his eyes fiery, a hand covering half of the doctor’s face. “I will find you and I will kill you. You tell every member of your profession. I know things about the dead. And I will know.”

Alma kept pulling at James elbow, and even though he wasn’t trying to get out of her grip, he wasn’t moving from his position, still holding the man by his throat.

“Do you want any words said over him when we put him back?” The other man croaked, deflecting his fear with dark humour.

“No. No one is listening.” James let go of the man and walked to the door, leaving Alma and Powell behind.

“Intention.” Dr. Powell said, touching his throat and looking the woman straight in the eye.

“Money.” Alma said dropping a couple of more shillings on the man’s hand.

\----

Alma was surprised when she saw James standing outside. She walked down the steps and started to undo the restrains on her black horse.

“Thank you for that Mr. Delaney…”

“James…” He corrected once again.

“I’m going to have to start paying him double now that you’ve threaten his live.” Alma said dismissing his interruption.

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” He looked at her eyebrows raised.

“It won’t once I print what I found tonight.” Alma smiled and started to turn but he grabbed her elbow and pulled her to his chest.

“No.” He simply said.

“No?” She simply asked.

“Don’t print the story.” He pressed, looked at her in the eyes.

“Don’t print?” She glared at him. “I don’t think you are understanding the nature of our relationship, Mr Delaney. The reason I’m even talking to you is because it’ll bring me some sort of monetary compensation. You are the hot topic of this town right now and I’m going to milk it until this cow runs dry. If there’s no milk to sell, I don’t want the cow.”

“Don’t print it yet.” James brought her closer to him.

“Then give me something to print, Mr. Delaney.” She scowled up at his face.

\---

Next days headline: Delaney’s Ghost? Or Lost Son? Who is James Delaney

\---

… JAMES DREAM …

He walked outside slowly, quietly not wanting to draw attention to himself. He can feel something on the back of his skull. Down, down where the skull meets his spine. A tingling there and he knows it’s coming. 

James Leaned his back against the stone wall as the tingling started to turn into a pressure at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes as the voices started to grow louder and louder.

‘You did this...You did this!’

“No!” He shouted and turned to go back inside. “No, because I have no fear to feed you with. I have no fear to give you and I will prove it.”

The haunted man walked inside the morgue, his head filled with voices. He grabbed the sheets that covered the bodies on the hallway and pulled them away. One by one, every corpse became visible to him, exposed, but none of them seemed to satisfy him.

“Sing for me. As you once did. As the river caught your tongue.” He speaks in a foreign tongue. “I know you are here. Suicide… That will teach you lot to steal won't it? I know you are here” 

The last body revealed was different from all the others and that satisfied James. An African man, wearing chains on his wrist and legs. The body began to tremble and James took a step back to give the ghost space to move, but didn’t back away any more.

“You are not here. You’re not here. I have no fear for you and I have no guilt for you…” James turned stood in front of the slave glaring at it, willing it to go away. It doesn’t.

The ghost takes one step forwards and James moves one foot to take one backwards, but something stops him. A hand on his. He looked sideways and there she is.

A white vision, a light ghost. Someone that guided him out of his madness. His anchor. She looked up and a familiar face looked up at him. Familiar face with different eyes. Kind instead of daring, warm instead of jaded. 

“Deal with it.” She urged, squeezing his hand. 

“I did as others did and as others had me do.” He looked back at the ghost as it kept walking to him. He swallowed, stating to feel the sweat forming in his forehead.

James looked back at the once silent vision. It had been silent in the past, but he knew she could speak now. It had words because she had spoken them. 

“Do it.” She urged, her free hand touching his wrist, he nodded.

“We are all owned and we all owned others..So don’t you dare stand there and judge me. Not today, I have work to do.” He spit out at the ghost slave and it stopped, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

He looked down at the other ghost and she touched his face, she had a kind smile on her face, even though her real flesh doppelganger never looked at him like this. But she had looked at the old man like this, with care, and he had seen it.

“I’m leaving.” And with a blink of his eyes, she was gone and he was alone once more.

\---


End file.
